


Twenty-Seven Candles (And To Many More)

by authoressnebula (authoressjean)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 05, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But it happened prior to the story, Character Death, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Episode: s05e21 Two Minutes to Midnight, Gen, Goes AU after that, Hurt Sam Winchester, Post-Apocalypse, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 05, mentions of Lucifer possessing Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22897405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressnebula
Summary: AU after 5x21: It's May 2nd. And this year, Dean's determined to make it count for something.Reposted from LiveJournal.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 100





	Twenty-Seven Candles (And To Many More)

It's May 2nd. And this year, Dean's determined to make it count for something.  
  
Sam doesn't want anything. He hasn't said as much, but Dean knows his brother, and he knows that if Sam were aware of the date, he'd curl up in a corner and demand to be left alone. Sam's always been convinced that his birthday's not anything to celebrate, and lately, he's also thought that it's cursed. Past few years being taken into consideration, Dean's almost inclined to agree with him.  
  
Almost. This year it's not cursed.  
  
This year, it's a miracle and a day for joy, as far as Dean's concerned.  
  
Because when he comes down the stairs for breakfast at Bobby's, albeit a little late on account of having slept for once, Sam's there at the table, fingers tracing some pattern in the wood-grain. He doesn't notice when Dean comes in, so Dean steps back and makes his footfalls heavier. Sam starts, but only a little. Not like he did two days ago when Dean came in like he always did and started talking. Sam hadn't known he was there.  
  
Sam hadn't taken it well.  
  
But the point is that Sam _is_ there, sitting, breathing, eating if Dean shoves him into it. He's alive. Not exactly living but he's alive, and that counts for everything.  
  
“Morning,” Dean greets, the cheerfulness not forced at all. Sam gives a nod in his direction but doesn't bother returning the smile.  
  
So Dean makes two of what he's having, which isn't anything more than toast, and takes a seat next to Sam. “Orange or apple juice?” he asks his brother.  
  
Sam gives him a look. “Coffee'd be great, thanks,” Sam says, but the sarcasm's even a little forced. He'd told Dean last night that he still felt too raw, too overexposed. Too everything. Feeling anything was just too much. The emotions are forced, because really feeling them would do him in.  
  
Unfortunately for his brother, that's what inspires Dean's answer. “Caffeine'll make you jittery,” he says. “Orange or apple?”  
  
The look Sam gives him would be pure disdain if he didn't look so damn tired. Dean would ask the stupid question of if Sam slept, except they both know he didn't, hasn't in days. Hasn't since-  
  
“Apple,” Sam says quietly, turning back to the wood-grains. Dean purses his lips but rises to get the juice.  
  
Lucifer. Hasn't since Lucifer and Sam's stupid goddamned plan that actually fucking worked. It had _worked_ , and that was half the miracle.  
  
The other half is that Sam's still here, after his stupid plan. Because it had been a close thing, and Sam's still paying for it.  
  
Dean peeks around the edge of the opened fridge door to where Sam's still tracing the wood-grains on the table. It's not a casual thing: it's a determined thing. He's been doing it every single morning since Lucifer was sealed back in his box. Testing himself, reassuring himself that him and only him is still in there. That Sam has full control over his body, that Lucifer can't make him...  
  
Dean buries his head in the fridge for half a minute. The cold air is a nice thing to breathe in, breathe out, and the random vegetables, milk cartons, and leftovers can't accuse him of anything, though the one container in the bottom right looks ready to stand up on its own. The stupidity of the idea is enough to ground him again, and then he's stepping out of the fridge with the apple juice.  
  
Breakfast continues to be an affair like all the other days. When Bobby comes in, walks in for breakfast, Sam stands up and leaves. Bobby, kindly, doesn't take it personally. “It's not you,” Dean says anyway.  
  
“I know,” Bobby says, like Dean's stupid enough to actually voice it. “What I'd like for the kid to realize was that it wasn't him. We all knew Lucifer had bad things planned for when he took Sam.”  
  
Everyone had accepted that except Sam. Sam had planned on overriding the sonuvabitch as soon as Lucifer took over. Even when he'd told them all he was too weak to do it, there'd been that hope in his eyes that he could do this right, that he could fix what had happened a year before.  
  
Problem that Sam hadn't realized was that it was _Lucifer_. Hope didn't exist with him. Sam _had_ done it, done the impossible: he'd retaken the reins from Lucifer, long enough to shut him back in the box.  
  
It just hadn't been soon enough before things had happened.  
  
“How's the eye?” Dean asks. Another stupid question, but this one Bobby doesn't call him on.  
  
“Feels weird,” Bobby admits. Then, in a lower voice, he tells Dean, “Don't you dare tell your brother what the doc said. You hear me?”  
  
“I'm not that stupid,” Dean protests, though he does cast his own two eyes around to see if Sam's anywhere nearby. He's not, though, and from the creaking above Dean's head his brother's gone back to curling up in bed. He closes his eyes and sighs. He'll go pull Sam out of bed in a little bit.  
  
“Leave him be,” Bobby says, like he can read Dean's thoughts. He sits himself at the table and nods his head in the general direction of the coffee pot. “And get me some brew; I'm not entirely sure my aim at the moment is gonna work.”  
  
Won't probably ever work again, considering what the doctor said, but Bobby'll adapt. _I've got my legs back, and my soul's still attached,_ Bobby had told him when they'd left the medical offices yesterday. _I think everything else is negotiable, at this point._  
  
“Aye aye, cap'n,” Dean says as he stands, and he gives the informal salute his dad had always hated. Bobby doesn't seem to care for it anymore than his dad did, and he flips Dean off, his one eye glaring at him. Dean grins and turns away, not letting himself linger on the black patch covering Bobby's right eye. Of everything that Lucifer had done that day while wearing Sam, Bobby's eye had been the lesser of all the evils.  
  
Dean pours the coffee and remembers what he wanted to ask Bobby. “I need to head into town,” Dean says. “I need a cake.”  
  
“You honestly think Sam's gonna want to celebrate today?”  
  
“I don't care what Sam wants,” Dean says in response to Bobby's incredulity. He dumps two spoonfuls of sugar into the coffee and quietly stirs it in. Bobby won't say as much, definitely won't admit to it, but Dean knows how the man likes his coffee. “I intend to celebrate the fact that my little brother survived another year, and he's gonna have to choke down glorious chocolate cake whether he wants to or not.”  
  
“The crimes you put that boy through,” Bobby says dryly, and Dean grins. He hands Bobby his coffee as opposed to setting it on the table, and the small smile Bobby gives is gratitude. It disappears into seriousness a moment later. “I'll watch him, if you want, while you head up; don't think I can drive at the moment.” He doesn't say that he isn't ever going to drive again, like the attitude he'd had with the wheelchair, and Dean takes that as a good sign.  
  
If his little brother would let go of the same attitude he'd had the past year, the attitude with guilt and pain, Dean'd be ecstatic. But he's not seeing that happening anytime soon. Especially after...Lucifer.  
  
Dean's a little tired of his life being defined by before and after Lucifer. Before and after Sam came to and Dean hoped like hell his brother hadn't been conscious of what Lucifer had done, and before and after Sam looked at him with shock and grief in his eyes, telling Dean that yeah, his brother knew. Sam knows too well what Lucifer did.  
  
It's only at that moment that Dean realizes Sam didn't really even touch his toast. There's still half of a slice left, and the bread wasn't that big to begin with. He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “I suggest you get somethin' else that's not made of sugar into that kid before you make him eat cake,” Bobby says, also taking note of the untouched food. “Your brother's gonna waste away.”  
  
Dean's half afraid that's what his brother wants. “Yeah, well, tough,” Dean says instead. “I'll get him to eat the toast and then I'll head off to town, get a cake. Ice cream, too.”  
  
“Vanilla,” Bobby says, like Dean doesn't already know. “Sam's never been a fan of chocolate and more chocolate.”  
  
He snags the plate of toast from the table and heads upstairs. Just like he thought, Sam's in bed, curled in around himself like he can disappear if he tries hard enough. For a terrible moment Dean remembers the fear he'd felt that night, watching the light swallow Lucifer and Sam, and he can't stop the shudder of fear from rippling down his spine. _He's out,_ Dean reminds himself. _He's safe, and Lucifer can't ever touch him again._  
  
So maybe Dean needs to reassure himself of that fact a time or two himself. Not like he's ever gonna tell Sam that.  
  
He takes a slow walk towards Sam, making sure Sam's aware of his presence before Dean stops and kneels next to the bed. His knees still hurt a little from Lucifer's tossing him around, but Dean's had worse, so he doesn't so much as grimace. “Forget something?” he teases gently, holding up the plate. “Thought you were gonna eat it, not poke it and...fold it up, apparently,” Dean says, looking at the toast for the first time. It's been flattened and folded to look like Sam had eaten half of it, and if Dean hadn't been pressing for Sam to eat it all, he might've gotten away with it. He gives his brother a look.  
  
Sam's cheeks flush but he only burrows deeper into the blankets. “Not hungry,” he says, sounding all of five years old again. It'd be cute if it wasn't so damn heartbreaking.  
  
Still, Dean's not about to let Sam off the hook, especially with cake in the immediate future. “You have to eat,” he says, gently but firmly. “I'm not watching you waste away here.”  
  
Sam doesn't say anything, leaving Dean completely lost as to how to proceed. Trying to talk to him actually isn't working, for once, because Sam refuses to talk about what Lucifer did inside of him. And Dean knows he's missing pieces. He wasn't able to follow Lucifer around the whole time. He's missing two days and he knows it. Sammy won't talk, though, and that's always been the fall-back. Sam always talks. Except for now.  
  
He chews his lip for a moment before finally doing what he's always done best: be obnoxious. He snags a piece off of the toast and pops it in his own mouth. “It's really good,” he says in a sing-song voice, ripping off another piece and offering it to Sam like he did years before, when Sam was in a high-chair and refused to eat peas. He always had it in for the peas. “C'mon, you know you want it...”  
  
And surprisingly, another miracle occurs: Sam actually smiles a little. “You're a jerk,” he says softly, right before he displays another miracle. He takes the piece of toast offered and puts it between his two lips and starts chewing. Dean feels like he's going to cry.  
  
Instead he smirks. “And you're a bitch,” he says. “My bitch from day one. Only one you ever listened to when Dad and I tried to get you to eat peas.”  
  
Sam's chewing the toast like it's tough leather, but eventually he swallows it with a grimace. “Those 'peas' were green slop, and even Dad wouldn't eat them,” Sam says. It's more than he's spoken in the past few days, and Dean gives him another piece of toast. He feels like he's holding his breath, and when Sam doesn't shove it away, he lets out a small sigh.  
  
He doesn't get much farther: another two pieces and Sam balks at the fifth. Dean thinks about nudging it further, thinks about making Sam feel guilty enough into eating it, but that's not exactly what Dean wants to do. Sam's opening up a little, eating something even, and if Dean presses he'll only succeed in making Sam close up again. He eats the piece himself and gets a small smile and eye-roll as a reward. He's not proud: he'll take what he gets.  
  
He does set the plate of toast on the table next to the bed, though: hopefully the few bites Sam had will encourage his stomach to growl and ask for more. Maybe Sam'll eat if Dean's not there to watch. “I'm heading into town for a little bit; you gonna be okay here for a little bit?”  
  
Any good mood immediately slides away as Sam's face pales. “For what?” he asks, looking like someone slapped him.  
  
“Just something quick,” Dean assures him, though the damage is done. “Won't be gone for more than a few hours.”  
  
Sam shudders and shuts his eyes. Dean purses his lips now that Sam's not watching him. “I'll be back before you know it, and Bobby's downstairs if you need anything. He can get upstairs pretty fast again too.” Not that Sam's going to call on Bobby anytime soon; he's pretty certain his brother wishes Bobby would forget he exists.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam says, voice barely more than a whisper. The comfortable moment from before is gone completely now, and nothing Dean says or does is going to get it back.  
  
It's a step in the right direction, at least, and Dean's gonna take it for what it is.  
  
“I'll be back soon,” Dean says. Sam nods tightly but doesn't open his eyes.  
  
He leaves as quickly as he can: staying to stare at Sam and wish Lucifer had never existed isn't going to get him anywhere. Even if Dean's spent the last few days doing very little else. Thinking about what happened isn't something he wants to do. Especially when it means thinking about his little brother in the aftermath of blood, sweat, and hysterics, devastated as he stared at the bodies surrounding him, at the one body in particular-  
  
Dean makes himself whistle Metallica all the way to the car until he can blast it from the speakers. It doesn't calm him down like it used to, but it does drown out his thoughts and images of his brother, bloody and broken from being used by Lucifer.  
  
Well. Drowns them out for the most part.  
  
  
  
He's in town for four hours, trying to get everything that he needs for Sam's birthday. The chocolate cake has to be made, because they didn't have one on hand with Dean's specific needs. All they had were balloons and flowers on the cakes, and Dean's not about to make Sam suffer through that. All he wants is a plain cake, nothing red or black anywhere near it. Green, though, is a must. Green's always been one of Sam's favorite colors, same as blue. So both have to go on the cake, along with the words _Happy Birthday Sammy._ Done by a professional this time and not by a thirteen year old kid trying to make it up to his little brother after he'd spilled the family secret to him only a few months before.  
  
This cake isn't going to be a momentary thought. No, Dean wants Sam to know he planned this. He wants Sam to know that there was thought put into it, because Sam's worth it. If he wasn't sure of getting weird looks from the bakery, Dean would've had them put all of that on the cake.  
  
He'll have to settle for a birthday card. That takes some serious picking out time, too. Then he's off to the mall the next town over, and if that's not a sign of how much Dean loves his brother, he doesn't know what is. The gift is corny, but when he'd seen it online, while doing a search for something almost like it, he'd immediately decided that it was going to be Sam's gift. Anything serious right now will only hurt, so corny and goofy it is.  
  
It's close to five when Dean finally returns to pick up the cake. His stomach growls at the sight of the beautiful chocolate cake, and the man who rings him up is more than happy to get him a few candles to go with it. Then it's back to Bobby's.  
  
Getting the cake inside is easy, since Sam still hasn't come downstairs, according to Bobby. “Hasn't moved, and believe me, I've been listening,” Bobby tells him as Dean starts sticking candles in the cake. “Need a lighter?”  
  
“I'm not lighting them,” Dean says, recounting again. Twenty-three, that's where he was at. Twenty-four gets stuck below the _Sammy_ and twenty five a little left of that. He's spaced them out perfectly so they form anything except a neat circle. Next time Dean sees a perfect ring or circle, it'll be far too soon.  
  
Bobby frowns, and even with one eye he still manages to look annoyed AND confused at the same time. “You're not lightin' 'em,” he says incredulously.  
  
“Nope,” Dean says, and finds an obscure place for twenty-seven. He stands back to admire his work, then, satisfied, starts looking for a place to stash the cake. “No flames.” No fires. Sam bounced back from Jess's death, and Dean knows he'll bounce back from this, too. Just. Not at all once. Little steps. Today it was eating four bites of toast.  
  
Dean's prepared to wait.  
  
Everything's set, and Dean turns to Bobby. “You mind cake for dinner?” he asks.  
  
Bobby just smiles. “Get the kid down here,” he says, moving over to the kitchen table. “And make it fast: damn thing smells pretty good.”  
  
The cake winds up being set down on Bobby's desk chair, someplace Dean knows Sam won't even look at. He bounds up the stairs and slows down when he gets to their room. Sam's still curled up where Dean left him, but he's not asleep. He's staring at the wall instead, seeing god knows what in his head. His fingers are moving in a deliberate pattern on his palm. If Dean looks long enough, he's pretty certain he'll see Sam tracing Latin or a ward of some type. Anything to ensure that Lucifer isn't getting in.  
  
He crouches this time, pain still flaring in his knees, and waits until Sam turns to look at him. “C'mon kiddo; dinner time,” he says. He finds Sam's hand underneath the sheets and hauls him up, even while Sam begins to protest. There's no protesting allowed now, and Dean's not gonna take it.  
  
Thankfully he doesn't have to haul Sam downstairs, simply leads him to the bottom and off into the kitchen. Bobby is indeed sitting at the table, and Dean quickly gets behind Sam as soon as his brother freezes. “Your brother's apparently decided to cook tonight,” Bobby says, giving Sam a grin. Like Sam isn't staring at him, grief and horror on his face. “We'll see what he has in store.”  
  
Dean only has to poke Sam hard in the back to make his brother jump and scoot forward towards the table. Bobby kicks the chair across from him out, giving Sam raised eyebrows. With obvious hesitation Sam makes to sit. For all his avoiding of the man, Sam can't seem to take his eyes off of Bobby now. Probably memorizing the small scars on Bobby's face, the eye patch that's already starting to leave creases in Bobby's skin. Assigning it all to himself, because he wasn't strong enough to take over Lucifer sooner or something else. Some crap that he'll do.  
  
As soon as Sam's sitting Dean's off into the library of sorts, reaching for the cake. He waits until he's sure Sam isn't going to look away from Bobby, then carefully lifts the cake from the chair. It's not huge but it's not small either, and one good misstep is all it's going to take to leave chocolate cake on the floor.  
  
Bobby's talking to Sam softly when he comes in, an even softer smile on the man's face. Dean doesn't think he's ever seen Bobby look like that before. He's handling Sam like his little brother's made of porcelain, and Dean can't quite blame him. Kid looks ready to cut and run any minute.  
  
He doesn't look up until Dean's standing beside him. When he does look up, Sam's face is pale, and his eyes are red. He looks ten types of miserable, and he's doing a great impressions of the puppy who got kicked and abandoned.  
  
And then he realizes what Dean's got in his hands and his eyes widen in shock.  
  
“Decided not to light 'em,” Dean says casually. “That many candles man, I don't know, it'd be a safety hazard. You're pretty old, dude.”  
  
Sam's still staring. There's no small smile like earlier with the toast, and there's no sign of moving past the shock. In fact, Sam looks even more miserable than before, and yeah, those are definitely tears gathering in his eyes. “Dean,” he chokes out. “No-”  
  
“No, you don't get to tell me no,” and okay, maybe he should be more gentle, but goddammit, Sam's going to listen. “You hate today. I get it, I do. But you do _not_ get to make _me_ hate today. Today has been suck-ass past few years, but overall? Today is one of the greatest days out of the whole year.”  
  
“Your sense of 'great' is pretty terrible,” Sam says, voice trembling, but there's a tiny bit of frustration too, and Dean's never been happier to see a small remnant of his brother's bitchface.  
  
“You know why it's great?” Dean says, completely ignoring his brother. “Because twenty-seven years ago I got a little brother, and I haven't lost him yet. I don't intend to start losing you today, not to a memory that's buried deep away and is never, _never_ coming back. So yeah, there's cake, and it's chocolate, and I forgot the ice cream but you're gonna eat the cake because I didn't lose you, Sammy,” he manages, and god help him, he's gonna choke up now. Sam's annoyance is gone, big wet eyes watching Dean like he's all of five again, and Dean can't help himself when he adds, “I didn't lose you and I'm not losing you now, little brother.”  
  
“Dean,” Sam says quietly, tears still in his eyes. But it's not the protesting form of his name from before; this is the plea for Dean to be telling the truth, for Dean not to be lying to him, for Dean to please god mean it.  
  
Dean sets the cake down in front of Sam and manages to smile. “Happy birthday, Sammy,” he says.  
  
It's another miracle and small victory when Sam gives a smile back, and it trembles, and there's still tears in his brother's eyes, and Sammy's still too damn thin for his own good, but he's smiling, and Dean'll have him eating cake before he knows it.  
  
“Corner piece?” Dean asks and Sam finally nods like it's the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
Today is the first of many birthdays that aren't going to involve pain and death and hurting souls. There's other people that should be gathered around the table sharing birthday wishes for Sam. Lucifer took care of many of them, killed them or had them killed. Cake isn't going to make the nightmares leave. Cake isn't going to completely erase the guilt in Sam's eyes.  
  
But when Dean comes back with the plates and forks, while Bobby's getting the milk from the fridge, he finds Sam's finger hovering over the cake, tracing the letters that were put on in blue icing. Sam bites his lip hard when he gets to the _Sammy_ , but it evens out into a small smile a moment later.  
  
There's no blood, flames, or Lucifer here to spoil today. Not now.  
  
And if Dean has his way, not ever again.  
  
  
  
It isn't until later that Dean gets to give Sam his gift.  
  
The cake was pretty damn good, even without the ice cream (though Dean'll be popping back into town tomorrow to get some, and he's hoping to coerce Sam into going with him). Sam even managed to eat a piece, though not a big one. Dean's okay with it, though: Sam ate his piece. Didn't try a folding trick like he had with the toast (though how someone would fold up a piece of cake is beyond Dean.)  
  
Still, there's clean-up afterwards, which Sam actually sticks around to help with, which isn't amazing because his brother's a slob because he's not, and it's not because he never wants to be helpful because Sam always wants to be helpful these days. No, the amazing cool thing is that Bobby's also there helping and Sam sticks around. With Bobby in the room. Whatever Bobby said to him seems to have done something, because Bobby's saying crap about random stuff, complaining about stupid things, and Sam's actually smiling a tiny bit.  
  
And god help him, Dean feels like they passed a test or something and the rest is sailing free.  
  
He finds Sam out on the porch later, looking out into the yard. There's a beer bottle next to where Sam's sitting, though it looks untouched. “Thinks that's a good idea, sparky?” Dean jokes. “Beer and cake don't mix well.”  
  
“It's for you, actually,” Sam says, soft as ever. “Figured you'd come out here to find me.”  
  
Dean gives his brother a grin and takes a seat next to him. The bottle gets popped open and Dean takes a sip: not because he's really in the mood for beer, but because Sam thought of him and tried to offer something back, and if Dean were to refuse it now he'd lose his brother's happiness. Sam's feeling good, and Dean needs him to keep feeling good through the gift.  
  
Speaking of. “I got you something,” he says, pulling out the small bag and the card before Sam can protest. “Nothing big. Card first, though, you definitely have to do the card first.”  
  
Sam accepts the card first without arguing. His fingers trace his own name on the front, _Sam_ written in Dean's scrawled handwriting. The card is slowly flipped over and the top of the envelope, which isn't sealed, is lifted with deliberate movements. The card slides out and Sam stares at it for a good long moment.  
  
It's not a funny card. The picture on the front is two small boys, one obviously taller and older than the other. Their backs are turned so their faces can't be seen. But the older one is clinging tightly to the younger, and he's helping him walk across the sandy beach. There's no text, nothing that stands out beyond this.  
  
The inside has very little to say either, but it had said all that Dean had really intended on saying in the first place. _Happy birthday from a big brother who'll never stop being there,_ it said, and Dean had merely added, _Always, Sammy. -Dean_ , beneath the text.  
  
It's enough to make Sam start crying again. “Dean,” he whispers brokenly.  
  
Definitely time to do the gift. He hands the bag over with little fanfare, and it takes Sam a moment to focus on the new thing Dean's handing him. The card is set down in Sam's lap gingerly, and he still stares at the cover for a good long moment as he digs absently in the bag for the gift. It's a faraway look, and Dean has no idea what his brother's seeing in his mind. Whatever it is, it's keeping more tears on call, keeping Sam's eyes glistening in the light coming from inside.  
  
Dean knows he's found the gift when Sam frowns, his hand stopping. “Find it?” Dean asks innocently, and Sam quickly pulls out what he's found.  
  
For the first time in days Sam actually laughs. It's a watery laugh, tears still in his eyes, but he's still _laughing_ and that was the whole point. “You're a little twisted,” he manages, holding the necklaces up. They're girly and the chains are lame, stupid things, but the charms on the end were what had snagged Dean's attention. They certainly weren't what Dean had been searching for, which had looked a lot more like a certain amulet now long gone. And they weren't the usual 'Best Friends' necklaces, a heart broken in two with words on each side. They didn't need reminders of broken hearts.  
  
So the two slices of bread, one made to look as if it were covered in peanut butter, one covered in jelly? Absolutely perfect and it said it all, Dean thinks.

“You pick which one you want,” Dean says. Sam blinks up at him, startled, his small laughs dying down to a mere smile.  
  
“You're serious?”  
  
“Hey, I braved that girly glittery store for those: damn straight I'm serious,” Dean says. Sam snorts in amusement once more, then finally rips the tag off from the top. He gives mock consideration to the two choices, but Dean's not fooled: Sam's a jelly lover. Dean, he likes both, but Sam's always had a soft spot for jelly. Dean had learned that when Sam was four and wanted more jelly than bread or peanut butter on his sandwich. Hasn't changed since then.  
  
So it's to Dean's surprise when Sam hands him the jelly one. “You sure?” he asks, startled, but he takes it. “You love jelly.”  
  
“I know,” Sam says softly, his smile a little dimmer now but still stronger than it's been in days. “I always have to have jelly. I want jelly around.” He swallows and looks down at the card in his lap, mesmerized by the cover once more. “Be stupid if I was jelly,” he murmurs, cheeks a little red.  
  
Dean's pretty certain his heart is going to pop, his stupid chest keeps twisting the way it does. It's not the amulet he carried for years (and he kicks himself nearly every day for letting it go, for letting a part of Sam go, so easily) but when he slides the necklace on, it's still fitting. He's got a new necklace from Sam, one for the next step in their lives.  
  
When he looks up, Sam's watching him, but there's barely a trace of a smile now. “You need sleep, birthday boy,” Dean says, and gets a twitch of his brother's lips for that. Sam does look tired, and considering how many emotions the kid's allowed himself after a few days of trying to feel nothing, yeah, Dean's not surprised his brother's crashing. Hopefully feeling better than he did before, though.  
  
If the way he's rolling the peanut butter toast charm between his fingers is any indication, then Dean picked right, and Sam's on his way to better already.  
  
He helps Sam inside, snagging the nearly full beer bottle on his way. The bottle gets set on the kitchen table, Sam held onto even more tightly as they make their way up the stairs. It's not until he gets Sam to the bed that he realizes his little brother's clutching the card, envelope, and necklace in his hand. It's Dean who has to swallow and try to stay focused now.  
  
The sway of the necklace on Dean's neck is a familiar feeling and motion against his skin he'd missed. Sam hands the card and envelope over to him when Dean holds his hand out, but doesn't relinquish the necklace so easily. Dean sets the other two items on the nightstand next to the piece of toast that still hasn't been touched. He'll get rid of it before he goes to bed.  
  
When he turns back, Sam's just finished putting his own necklace on. It's a stupid ass gift and a chick-flick moment that won't end, but goddammit it _means_ something that Sam's not giving up, that Sam's willing to keep going. This is Sam accepting that Dean will continue to be there for him, that they'll be glued together like peanut butter and jelly, and it's so corny and so stupid but damn if it doesn't make Dean feel a thousand times better than he had when he'd gotten up that morning. This isn't Sam staring morosely at the table-top, hating himself for what Lucifer did in his body.  
  
This is his little brother fingering the toast charm with a small smile on his lips, his eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. This is Sam who actually looks like he's considering and wanting sleep for the first time in god knows how long. This is Sammy who's looking up at him with a smile that's replaced with a yawn and goes back to a small smile.  
  
This is moving forward.  
  
“Get some sleep, Sammy,” Dean murmurs. Sam nods and slides under the covers, curling up like he had before, like he's done for days. There's no pinched brow, no furrows of pain. Just exhaustion and maybe even a little peace. Dean could joke, say a little piece of cake can fix anything, but he knows what really helped today, and it makes his eyes burn just a little.  
  
It's not gonna erase everything. If anything, the nightmares might be even stronger tonight, and Dean's not sure which one of them he's talking about.  
  
But it'll get better from here. It has to. Sam smiled multiple times today, something he hasn't done since Lucifer knocked them all off their feet. There was a little less self-loathing in his eyes.  
  
Dean can handle that. So long as he gets his little brother back in the end, Dean can handle the baby steps.  
  
He sits on his own bed and waits until Sam's breathing evens out. Then he snags the plate with the half-eaten toast on it and heads for the door. After a moment, he turns back, sets the card up so it'll be standing straight, the first thing Sam'll see when he wakes up in the morning, or whenever he opens his eyes next. He gazes at the cover for a long minute. Sam's still asleep, looking almost as innocent as the two kids on the card.  
  
Dean lets himself smile and makes his way downstairs with the toast. He needs to make a shopping list for tomorrow, and vanilla ice cream's going at the top.  
  
END


End file.
